Dial Your Doom!
by Uncle Nipsy
Summary: What happens when ZIM discovers the Love Ambassadors of Brooklyn's power through Dial A Song? Trouble. Only trouble, my friend.
1. Bad Singing

I have been flamed SUPER BAD in the past because I am such a terrible writer (hahah), but I am not afraid to bethe first to introduce you a TV Show and Band crossover fanfiction. AN INVADER ZIM AND THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS CROSSOVER FANFICTION. w00t.

Who is _They Might Be Giants,_ you ask? The name may ring the bell as I remind you of songs such as the most familar theme song ofMalcom In The Middle, _"Boss Of Me",_ orKaBlam's _"Doctor Worm"_ and _"Why Does the Sun Shine",_ or perhaps you were lucky enough to see _"Ana Ng"_ or_"BirdhouseIn Your Soul"_on Vh1. Whatever the case, _They Might Be Giants_ is a Pop-Alternative or "Geek Rock" veteran band from the mid eighties. They do everything from catchy guitar riffs to dance remixes to car commercial jingles. Just do some Googling and you'll find more about them in no time. I don't want to feel like I'm advertising. XP

I know many Invader ZIM fans who also love TMBG, so I figured I would put this together. I've even heard that John Linnell (Lead singer, keyboardist, accordionist) watches it with his son, Henry, on occasions. Here we go!

WHEEEE! I'M DRIVING!" said a small metallic android who pressed random buttons on the control panel of a nearly spherical air vehicle. However, the android was not going anywhere since the air vehicle was in its docking bay being repaired by dozens of robotic arms which wielded lasers and data transfer beams. As an added note, the vehicle visited this place often in the roof of a small green man's house in the middle of a suburban New York neighborhood.

"GIR! You're going to do something bad, ZIM can feel it in his blood! So stop being all jumpy and stuff in the Voot Cruiser!" said a short green alien clad in a magenta kilt and pink collars, black boots and matching gloves to cover his busy hands.

He seemed to have been using an action figure of himself and destroying a toy city made of Legos with the action figure by ramming the toy into the buildings, and making dramatic and childish sound effects. "Now be quiet so I can plot my destruction of Earth in the style that I took from the squinty Japanese humans! Squintingly small eyes, those Japanese have, yes."

"But I'm a good driver, I'll be careful!" GIR said, a little ashamed of what he was doing. He quickly shrugged off his guilt and pressed buttons wildly once again, cackling in amusment as he did so. ZIM grunted and continued with destroying his Lego model of New York City.

GIR soon became bored with pressing all the buttons, so he reached out for the radio button and listened to some music.

"They call me Doctor Worm!" GIR sang gleefully to the radio, and danced in circles on the seat of the Voot Cruiser. "I...am a worm...and I'm...a worm and a doctor! Duuuuhhh...I AM A REAL WORM! AND A DOCTOR! I don't know the worrrrddsssss!"  
"Ugggh, that noise is horrible! Turn it off before I break it with your empty head!" ZIM said, applying pressure to the sides of his head to block out the noise being recieved by his antennae.

"Kay," GIR said. He stared at the radio for a moment, and then nodded. He tore the radio out of it's cubby hole and ate it all in one bite. The radio made a "CLUNK" in his stomach cavity. He hopped out of the Voot Cruiser and marched off to the elevator that lead to the upstairs.

"I'm gonna go buy food now," GIR said before he got in the elevator.  
"Okay, you do that," ZIM said, now demolished his legos and stomping on them. "ERGH ERGH ERGH DIE HUMANS DIE."  
"YES MY MASTER!" Gir said saluting ZIM repectively and taking the elevator to go to the store.

There was a long silence.

"...GIR forgot his disguise," ZIM remarked. "...OH NOOOOOO! GIR! COME BACK! HUMANS ARE GONNA DISECT ME!" he screamed, running into the elevator and slamming into the wall. "COMPUTER! TAKE ME TO THE -eeeeyaaaaaaaahhhhhhheeeeeeee!"

ZIM was shot upstairs and spit out through the toilet in his kitchen, his head piercing through the ceiling tile, all of the roof, and landed on his lawn with his lenses in cock-eyed and his wig tilted foreward on his head. One of his lawn gnome robots were kind enough to adjust his wig properly on his head while ZIM put in his contacts properly. He punched his chest a few times, forcing out a clump of grass that had been lodged in his throat.

"Good thing I keep a spare disguise for GIR in my Pak," ZIM said, glancing at the odd egg-shaped mechanisim on his back. He tapped on the largest pink blob on his Pak, ejecting GIR's green dog suit disguise. He ran after GIR, who was just a few blocks away.

Since he had ingested the radio, GIR simply listened to the "Freeky Geeky Rock 'n Pop Hour" on the "KWAP Radio" channel. Odd, a western radio channel on a New York Radio...ahem. It's pronounced how you think it is, yes.

"They want a crane, I want a crane, you want crane, doo dee doot doo doot," GIR sang cheerfully, snapping his fingers to the tune. "Old man want a crane, old lady got a crane, apartment go 'splode...crane."

"Hey! I know that song!" said a young boy on the street.  
"And so do I! It's rockin!" said a girl who was listening to the same song on her headphones. "Dude, like, you are the coolest talking shiny metal radio I have ever seen!" she said to GIR.  
"Aw, I love you too!" GIR said, hugging her legs.

Not long from then, the entire neighborhood broke out into song to what GIR had been listening to.

"They'll need a crane, to take the house he built for her apart to make it break it's gonna take a metal ball hung from a chain!" sang the group as they had wrecked a few local apartments with a stolen wrecking ball machine. People who were once angry ended up singing to the dorky tune, making every person look quite stupid.

"They'll need a crane, they'll need a crane! To pick the broken ruins up again!" they sang as they picked up a few boards to pick up the mess they had created.

"To mend her heart, to help him start to see a world apart from pain..." but of course, they had just dropped all the boards back down where they had found them and ran as fast as they could away from the area, so none of them would get in trouble.  
ZIM had seen the entire thing, and was quite angry, yet marveled, at what GIR had caused.

"Interesting," ZIM said, rubbing his chin and pondering. His face brightened. "Silly ZIM! How could I have not seen it many times before! Humans love music! And they also seem to love that trashy noise...what IS that made by, anyway?"

"It's made by some John guys!" GIR said, pulling out a booklet with a picture of two middle aged men, one with an accordion and the other with a left - handed guitar.

"They look like regular smelly piles of flesh garbage to me," ZIM said, furrowing his brow. "...The Love Ambassadors of Brooklyn..." ZIM shivered. "Love. That HORRIBLE human emotion I hate most of all, and by FAR the most painful...they must be horrible, horrible people!"

"They like coffee and they sweat good!" GIR chirped.  
"Coffee, eh? ...oh yeah, coffee. Yeah, I have that," ZIM said with a nod.  
"Perhaps I could use coffee to lure these Earth walruses into doing work for me, or even better! I could use their brains to combine into a super music hyp-mo-tizin' brain so I can make songs and stuff and then take over the world and blah blah blah...yet another ingenious plot of conquest thought out be ZIIIIIMMM! " ZIM said, thrusting an overly egotistic fist into the air and squeezing his palm with his fingers until you could hear the rubber of his glove cringe.


	2. Coffee Slaves

"I have bought enough coffee to make these human noise drones follow the nasty scent of this...Foldgers...to my base so they will be captured to have their brains sucked out with these neat little vaccum tubes that I never got to use...ya'know...the ones with the saws and the chains on them...yeah, those..." ZIM babbled as he stood on a steel podium surrounded by tiling and gates, which below was a sea of snaking wires, cords, and other electromagnetic wave transporting mechanisims.

After the "sea" was a giant plasmatic screen that took over half of the gargantuine lab room. Two lanky aliens who looked identical to ZIM looked half asleep as he babbled while they ate junk food.

"He's boring," said one alien with purple eyes to the other with red eyes.  
"You didn't notice that before?" retorted the one with red eyes, sucking on a straw for his drink. "His plans were so amusing a few days ago, and now they are-"  
"BORING, YOU'RE BORING ZIM SHUT UP," the purple eyed alien shouted at the transmitting screen. "And these cheese snacks you sent me smell very icky! I'm not eating them anymore!"

"Yeah, see? He's not going to eat them because you're icky like those snacks, ZIM. So go away, you're just too icky for us, your ALMIGHTY TALLEST LEADERS," bellowed the red eyed alien, and cutting the transmission.

"But My Tallest! - uggghhh," ZIM said with a frustrated growl. "I feel as if even my leaders have turned on me for my conquest of this planet. COMPUTER IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" ZIM shouted angrily.

"Okay, but I don't really want it to be my fault," said the deep voice that belonged to the computer.

"Well too bad, it is. Deal with it," ZIM retorted. "Now help me get all this coffee upstairs so I can sell it and things to those Love Ambassadors of Brooklyn." The computer groaned and bagged up the 426,138 canisters of coffee that was stocked at the grocery store. How ZIM carried all that beany stuff home in the first place, I am not sure.

The bag was transported upstairs to the living room and then shoved into the lawn.  
ZIM put on a fake rabbi's beard, a top hat, a neat children's tuxedo, and a convincing sign on his top hat that said "I LOVE COFFEE AND SELL IT TOO" on it. He was now a green and neatly dressed coffee salesman.

"Linnell, you are NEVER driving again, you always make us stuck in potholey roads," said a man with glasses and a beer belly dipping a glazed doughnut in his "lite" coffee. "Do you even know where we are?"  
"Uhh...uhm, of course I do! We are...some place! On some road!" Linnell, a skinny man at the wheel said as-a-matter-of-factly.

"That's it, John, no more vauge excuses for you, I drive now!" said the slightly round man, pushing Linnell out of the way and grabbing the wheel, making the tour bus swerve left to right on the roughly paved road. After nearly running over a small ugly dog, the small bus tipped over on its side, and one of the men who were in the back wet himself as he was pummeled with encased instruments.

"Ah, Marty, you should know well enough now that you sit on the wrong side of the equipment," said another thin man who was fiddling with his bass guitar. He and the other man looked completely nonchalant as they sat on top of the large pile of musical instruments, with Marty at the bottom being crushed at the bottom. "Then you wouldn't have to make the bus smell of urine so much." Marty nodded weakly as the bruises on his body prevented him from moving very much more.

"Is everybody alright?" Linnell said, brushing the passenger curtains aside and looking at the three men which were in the back.

"Yeah, what happened?" said the man with neat black hair who sat by the man practicing on his guitar.  
"Flansburgh tried to drive again," Linnell said sighing and rolling his eyes.  
"Gawd, he needs to stop being such a control freak, man," he replied to Linnell's comment. "I mean, it's not like he owns the bus or anything."

"Yeh, but when he's not being a 'control freak', he's drinking like alcohol is water, and we all know (even Marty) how that gets," Linnell said gloomily.  
"Hey, I heard that! I'm only right here!" Flansburgh snapped, but let his expression soften a little when he saw the amazingly tall "SUPERIOR COFFEE EMPORIUM OF ROASTY SUPERIORITY" building.

"Coff...ee..." he said unintelligably as he emerged from the door facing upwards, and walking stiffly towards the building. "Me get coffee...John get coffee...me...John...coffee"  
"Uh, hello? Flansburgh? Is your brain not functioning today?" Linnell said, standing in front of Flansburgh after he had gotten out behind him. "Hey! Hey! Flanso! John! Mr. Kissyou! Hey!"  
But when he had seen the sign and realized the scent of roasted coffee beans, he too became a brainless caffene-hungry zombie.

"Me get coffee too," he said monotonous tenor - pitched voice. "...Johns get coffee..."  
"Uhm, is it just me, or did those two leave their brains back at your apartment, Danny?" said the man who was previously messing with his bass guitar.  
"Dunno," Danny said with a shrug, still smirking at Marty's squished self under him and a few cases of instruments.  
"Can you guys get off me now?" Marty said feebly, raising a weak, purplish finger.


	3. Chapter 3

"What can I get you, gentlemen?" said ZIM in a casual manner as he sat the two Johns down at a corner table.  
"Black with lots of sugar," said Linnell.  
"Light with more sugar than his," said Flansburgh, pointing at his friend. Both Johns had odd monotonous voices, and stared blankly into nothing as they stated their orders.

"Just a seeecond!" ZIM said as he dashed to the "kitchen" of the oversized coffee shop that he "owned". Basically, though, the coffee shop was just a complex hologram in front of ZIM's house that was directly in front of his base and giving ZIM a clear run to his labs to prepare his heinous plot.

In the kitchen, ZIM took off his disguise quickly and zipped over to his control room, so he could carefully monitor his victims, as well as do his bidding to them...which was to take their brains and taking what they know, at the same time, putting it all into good use. But first, he had to make sure his prey would not escape from his grubby little three-fingered hands.

"GIR! Get out there and serve them their poop stuff," he said, pointing to the door for his dim-witted android. "And make sure to get the other three that are still in the van outside, or NO TACOS FOREVER."

"No tacos...?" GIR said, insulted. "_Forever...?_" water from his hard drive cooler condensed near the bottom of his eyes, making him appear to cry. "OKAY, I'LL DO IT. FOR THE TACOOOSSSS!" he cried as he charged out the door with the large porcelain cups of coffee.

"John...I don't like this place," Linnell whispered in Flansburgh's ear.  
"I know...it's too...big for a coffee shop," Flansburgh said distantly.  
"I think we should just get out of this place and go find a payphone on the next block," Linnell said, scooting to the end of the seat and just about to get up when-

"STOP HUMAN!" said the green little doggy who held out a hand gesturing him to stop moving, who dropped Linnell's coffee in the process. "Oops! Uh, here, you can share this one."  
"How about no?" Flansburgh said, taking Linnell by a wrist and sprinting for the door.

"How about _YES?_" said the voice of the other butler as the double doors that had looked almost heavenly as Flansburgh approached them, but then were encased with layers and layers of encased steel. A terrfying, cruel laugh was heard as the entire room became snowy and fuzzy like a television screen, and then becoming only but a room surrounded by tall rods with luminecent orbs on each end, and then thousands of sixty-inch television screens that showed the face of a bug-like creature laughing and intimidating the Johns.

"Buh-bye!" waved the robot.

GIR jumped onto a hovering platform and was off to retrieve the Dans and Marty as multitues of complex robotic arms took hold of each John around their heads, necks, arms, waist, and ankles. They were thrown so and attached to the dissection board in such a trice that they were both clammy and airsick. ZIM was lowered down on a hovering platform identical to GIR's to question the Johns.

As soon as he touched the ground with the hoverboard clear out of his way, the odd egg - shaped device on his back released four elongated titanium spider legs and lifted ZIM up into the air, making him ten feet tall instead of two feet tall.

"Are we having lots of fun today, you loathesome piles of cell matter?" ZIM's mouth curled sharply up into his cheeks, showing the most nerve-racking smirk that not even Draco Malfoy could pull off. "I hope so...because you have been chosen by THE ALMIGHTY ZIM to have your brains surgically removed for purposes in taking over your planet. Any questions?"

Linnell and Flansburgh looked at each other blatantly and then looked at the bug-creature who was dressed in a humourous little magenta kilt and black pantyhose.

"I don't know if I should piss in my pants from laughing or fear to have my brain removed from my body!" Flansburgh stated. Linnell nodded faintly at Flansburgh's remark and eyed ZIM precariously.  
"SILENCE, YOU DISGUSTING BLOB OF COW FECES!" ZIM shrieked as he pointed a small lasergun to Flansburgh's head, making Linnell jump and Flansburgh all sweaty.

"Pardon me for this question that was just BOUND to come up, but what do you want with our brains?" Linnell swallowed after his question, trying to get rid of the stubborn lump in his throat from being so prone to having his brains maimed.

"Scans of my computer(and my general knowlege) have come to find that you are the Love Ambassadors of Brooklyn, who make music to make humans do their pitiful but highly amusing dances...I want to know the secret of your POWER to CONTROL them so EFFORTLESSLY...!" the joints in his wrists were bound to snap right off his arms from the sound of them cringing as he spit in their faces. The both of them winced at his awful breath and the spit from his mouth that was sprayed on them.

"TELL ME!" ZIM snarled as the tiny capillaries in his eyes squeezed his irises until the reflections of his eyes were completely gone and left tiny brick red pupils staring menacingly at them. His other hand that was holding the gun pressed harder against Flansburgh's temple, now thorougly moist with sweat.

"W-w...well, uh, heheh! We just...do what we want we like to do," Flansburgh said with his teeth chattering.  
"M-music is our life! We've been doing it for twenty years, and-and people who always just called the...Dial-A-Song...liked it and that's kinda how we got famous," Linnell said, his body shaking uncontrollably.

"Wait," ZIM said, lowering the gun and letting the expression on his face soften. "Dial-A-Song? Tell me of this contraption...Dial-A-Song. Is it some sort of wave - radiating device? How does it work? Does it have lasers or smoke machines?"

"Well, a telephone does use electromagnetic waves in a sense...for electricity, I guess," Flansburgh said with an inquisitive nod. "All you do is dial the number 718-387-6962, and the automated voice will tell you to press certain buttons so you can hear the songs we make."  
"A new song every hour, we always say," Linnell said, cheering up a bit.  
"But, eh, no...it doesn't have lasers or smoke machines. but hey, good thought," Flansburgh remarked.

ZIM pondered for a moment. "Where is the main database located?" he said in a firm voice. The Johns looked at each other, wondering if they really should tell ZIM where it was actually located. Who knows what ZIM would do with it...?

Linnell sighed and lowered his head as far as the bracket around his neck would let him, and then used his chained hand to point at Flansburgh.  
"His apartment," he said simply. ZIM smirked and chuckled; the chuckle soon grew to a cackle, then a bellowing, blood-curling laugh. It quickly died down, and as he snickered to himself, he rubbed his hands together and zipped over to a keyboard nearby, tapping the keys with his small claw-like fingers. He was writing down his science notes...he turned back and glowered at the Johns.

"I thank you, gentlemen, for being so agreeable and helpful to my mission," ZIM said with his arms behind his back. "Perhaps if your corpses preserve well enough in these old specimen tubes, I can revive you hundreds of years from now to give you back your position as Love Ambassadors...but for now I'm gonna have some real fun-

ZIM's device that had sprouted his spider legs now let five long purple cords snake from the top pink button to almost directly in the John's faces. The snaking cords came to a halt beside ZIM's hands.  
"-with THESE!" and with a broad, toothy grin and a wave of his hands, each end of the tubes beared the most mind-meltingly horrfying instruments of torture that sprung from each cord, each with their own little stains of blood from previous victims.

"Couldn't you at least _clean_ those before you kill us!" Flansburgh's eyes were wider than satellite dishes, sweating so much that the sweat made his thick white tee-shirt nearly transeculent, with even more sweat beading at his forehead and tricking down to his nose, where it dripped onto the sterillized tile on the ground. Linnell was about the same, only he was as pale as a clean white bed sheet and sweating enough so that his cheap reading glasses were sliding down his nose. The collar of his shirt and his upper chest area were also noticably darker than the rest of his light grey cotton shirt.

As we turn our eyes away, we can hear the gut-wrenching screams and bellows for mercy as the buzzsaw, pincers, needles and pins went to work on the Johns and removing their brains...all we see is a trickle of their mixed blood running past our feet...


End file.
